Obsessed bondage story | table, brother, bound

Not that she wasn't good to look at. Not at all. She was small and well covered as any healthy young girl should be. She had a great mop of dark hair which tended to frizz and which framed a pair of bright eyes in a face that tapered downward to a small and determined chin. She wasn't by any means unattractive. To coin a phrase ... she just wasn't my type. I wasn't interested.

But she was interested in me. Very interested. In a young girl it is called a crush; in an older woman an obsession; something that could lead to stalking? She haunted me and followed at my heels like a puppy with a newly appointed young master. She seemed indifferent to the sly comments, the sneers and open jibes of her contemporaries; she just followed me around.

Eventually I took the cruel road and simply ignored her but it made little difference. Every time the doorbell sounded I knew who was going to be on the other side of that barrier. I do believe that my Mother dropped her a hint or two but with equal result. Perhaps I should have taken her by the scruff and hurled her out into the night? Perhaps ... but dare I say that I was brought up not to be rude and especially to the opposite sex.

It came to an end one Saturday when I was alone in the house; everyone had gone on some business or other which, today, I cannot recall in even the slightest detail. I had hauled out that undersized billiard table; no small job because it had a slate bed and needed lifting to the dining-room table. I levelled it and set up the balls then, just as I struck the spot cue-ball for that opening shot, you can probably guess ... the doorbell sounded. And yes, it was indeed Delia.

With a sigh I stood aside to let her enter and then returned to my game. But with only myself around she clearly didn't mean to let the grass grow under the billiard table. She started several attempts at conversation which I dealt with summarily. She asked questions about the table but I knew she was not interested in that game. Eventually she sat herself down on the sofa and, for a few brief minutes, watched.

I had my back to her and had just lined-up a shot when she struck the end of the cue and messed-up the whole shebang. Patiently I said: "I doubt that was an accident?"

My only answer was a giggle and a few minutes later she repeated the act. "If you persist," I threatened, "I shall deal severely with you." It took a while for me to realise that I had issued a challenge and she was not the sort to refuse. When for the third time my game was interrupted I put down the cue and went out to the kitchen. A few days before my Mother had entered from the garden speechless because the clothes line had parted. She had been constantly warned that she put too much on that long-suffering length of cord, especially when the wind was a-blowing, but she had the same attitude to this problem as Delia was showing to the present situation. I opened the odd-junk cupboard under the sink and extracted the remains of that terminated line - it had enough left in it to serve my intended purpose.

After shaking it out I coiled the line into my left hand and returned to the dining-room where, I felt sure, Delia was just making up her mind to start investigations. At first she didn't notice the rope most probably because she was seeking enlightenment from my face. When she did spot it her eyes opened wide. "I warned you," I said.

She came off the sofa with startling speed and scuttled away around the table. I made as though to cut her off and, as she reversed, I picked up the cue and pushed it out in front of her. She was not to be blamed for thinking I was striking out but her momentary panic gave me the edge I needed. With an arm firmly around her waist I lifted her off her feet, swung her around for the sake of confusion and then dumped her on the green baize surface.

The rest of course was simply a matter of bullyboy tactics. I held her down with my left hand while I wrestled for one of hers which I then passed into my left, A matter of moments and I had her hands pinned behind and was wrapping them with clothes-line. A turn went around her waist and was knotted before I used the end around her ankles to leave her in a loose hogtie.

"Now," I said, "are you prepared to behave?"

If anything was evident at all it was that she was more inclined to giggle than repent. In those days I had yet to realise that, for some people, bondage is not at all a punishment. "At least," she offered cheekily, "I've stopped you playing billiards."

"Don't be too sure." She was no weight at all for me and I lifted her, bound as she was, and dumped her back on the sofa. But that little lady was far from finished. When, for the third time, I was forced to stop playing to retrieve her from the floor I decided to do the job properly. Not that I had found anything but excitement in the spectacle she was providing but, to equal her determination, I was going to complete my practice come what may.

I carried her out into the hall and released the hogtie. Her jubilation was undoubtedly spiced with apprehension but not for long. With the shorter length of the line I rebound her ankles and then turned her face down so that her weight was not on her hands and arms. Then I tied her feet as high as was reasonable to the bannisters and left her there not unlike a hooked and landed fish.

I kept the door open in case she got into trouble but she was made of stern stuff. Struggle as she would there was never any hope of her escape. She was there probably for half an hour and I was about to offer a truce when a motor bike drew up outside. My brother had returned and so I resolved to let him find her; perhaps that would quell the lady.

He breezed in through the back door in his usual manner and I didn't need to know why his whistling stopped so suddenly. I'm not really sure even today what I expected him to do yet I must confess to surprise that he didn't come storming in for an explanation.

Because I assiduously attacked those noisy balls I failed to understand the low-level conversation but shortly he went upstairs. Then he came down again; there was a short spell of silence and I thought I heard again that giggle. Some other strange noises and then it seemed to me that they were both leaving via the kitchen and the back door.

Keeping back so as not to reveal my now intense interest I saw them walking down the garden toward the orchard. He had his arm around her waist but why did it appear that the arm was more a source of propulsion than affection? That arm obscured my view but it did seem that she was holding her hands behind her back. Intervening shrubs, leaves and the usual impedimenta of a garden obscured my view but her body-language implied that they were tied there? Then a fleeting shaft of bright sunlight sent back a gleam and I realised that she was handcuffed.

Now my big brother was not a policeman and had never been such. So ... how come he sported manacles? My interest in the proceedings moved up several gears but, on the other hand, I was for once freed from Delia's adoration. I went back to the billiard table.

It was perhaps an hour later that the dog began a campaign of agitation designed to remind me that his afternoon walk was overdue. I had completely forgotten Delia and so we set off through the orchard. It was there I stumbled on a sight that was to shape the future course of my life. A young girl was backed up to a young tree and her arms, stretched around it behind her, were firmly secured to each other by a bright set of handcuffs. She couldn't see me because a bag of some sort had been pulled over her head and, for a short while, I absorbed the sight of her writhing body as she tried with utter futility to escape. Despite the hood there was no doubt of her identity and I kicked myself for not having had such an idea long ago.

Yet this was not my scene and the dog, after he had sniffed suspiciously around her, resumed the pursuit of the only interesting thing around. Over the following weeks and months my brother revealed a side of his nature previously unknown to me; he was far more cavalier in his treatment of the incorrigible girl; he left her lying around all over the place. Sometimes she was bound with rope, sometimes with chain, usually with the handcuffs. Sometimes he blindfolded her, sometimes utilised that bag but, looking back on it now, I realise that she was never gagged? In wet or otherwise inclement weather I'd find her hog-tied in odd places around the house and once she appeared spread-eagled on the billiard table but that was not conducive to play which - possibly - suited her. One thing however ... he always knew where to find her because she was always tethered in some way and he seemed to be a master in the art of inescapable bondage.

I enjoyed my new-found freedom from that shadow-lady; in my innocence, or was it ignorance, I failed to see any significance in the matter that she continued to plague our house with her presence despite my brother's activities in discouragement. A bound, chained, shackled, hooded or bagged Delia become as ubiquitous as the kitchen stove and I ceased to notice her except for those occasions when I opened to her at the summons of the doorbell. Never again did I suffer that sinking feeling when the chimes rang out.

For how long did that continue? I have to say that I have not any clear idea. But eventually it stopped because they married and moved away. I've never been sure in my own mind whether it was a marriage of convenience, one founded in love and mutual admiration or simply that each fulfilled a deep need in the other and which neither of them was willing to forego?

But then... what exactly is your definition of happiness?